Madding Fever
by Leahna
Summary: sequel to What Wretched Errors


rated: R  
  
The pink and gold sky was just fading to blue when Lord John Roxton bounced up the stairs from the sleeping quarters to the common room of the tree house. He whistled an indistinguishable tune happily.  
  
"You seem in an awfully good mood," Professor George Challenger, who stood by the table, commented dryly.  
  
"And why shouldn't I be George?" Roxton laughed in response, his grin so wide it barely fit on his handsome face, "how many men can claim that all their troubles have vanished, bag and baggage in one night?"  
  
The professor shook his head in anger, "this isn't what I had in mind. I should never have given you that ultimatum."  
  
"Come on, Challenger. We're all adults here. It's not like I forced her. . ."  
  
"How can you be so caviller, man?" he yelled gruffly.  
  
"Look, the situation may not be ideal. . . ." Roxton was getting frustrated. He hadn't expected the scientist to object so vehemently, in fact, he'd hoped that the professor would be happy.  
  
"NOT IDEAL?" the older man sputtered. "I can't. . . . I really thought you still cared about. . . Loved Marguerite."  
  
"Of course I do. This is no fling, George. I will make an honest woman of her."  
  
Realisation finally dawned on the scientist: Roxton didn't know. "Roxton," he started hesitantly.  
  
"No, if it is going to bother you so much, I'll get her now and we can be married by the Zangas or what ever will make you comfortable. Of course you will have to deal with the 'wrath of Marguerite' at awakening her so early." He started for thestairs.  
  
"She's gone."  
  
"What do you mean, gone?"  
  
"I thought you knew," he waved the paper he'd been holding.  
  
Roxton turned and raced down the stairs. He charged into Marguerite's room. The bed was tidily made. Everything was in it's place except for her dressing gown which lay on the floor. He picked it up and laid it neatly across the foot of her bed.  
  
On impulse, he checked her jewellery box. Nothing was missing except Marguerite. Before heading back upstairs, he hopefully poked his head into his own room, but found it empty as well.Back in the common room, he brushed by Challenger and headed for the gun rack. "She must have gone for a swim, she knows better than to go alone." He reached for his rifle, but came away with Marguerite's gunbelt, the pistol still holstered. He held it up andlooked helplessly at his friend.  
  
Challenger walked over and placed a sheet of paper in the confused hunter's hand. He clapped the younger man on the shoulder, and having no comforting words to share, turned and walked out onto the balcony.  
  
John looked down at the paper. It was a letter written in Marguerite's hand; it was short,and betrayed no secrets:  
  
  
  
I realise that I haven't been easy to live with. Maybe now you will find some peace and quiet in the treehouse. I only hope that you have some kind memories of me. I take many of you. Don't worry about me, and don't bother coming after me. I have always taken care of myself. As Roxton is fond of pointing out, it is what I do best.  
  
Goodbye, dear friends,  
  
Marguerite  
  
  
  
He finished reading and angrily crumpled the letter into a ball, Flinging it across the room, he returned to the gun rack, strapped on his Webleys, took up his rifle, shoved his hat on his head and said, "I'm going after her."  
  
His mind raced back to the night before. "Why didn't I wake her?" he berated himself. But why would she have left after last night, after she'd come to him, unless it had been a dream? No, it was real; when he closed his eyes, he could still see her luminous body moving under him, still feel the creamy softness of her skin. . . it was very real. He had assumed that she'd somehow known that he had been in her room, watching her sleep, silently apologising. Now he knew that she had been saying goodbye. Determinedly, he headed for the elevator.  
  
"Wait," Challenger said.  
  
He paused, but did not turn around. "Nothing will stop me from finding her."  
  
"No, but we will need supplies." So saying, the professor hurried around the room, throwing blankets, food, extra ammunition, and odds and ends into two rucksacks. He handed one to Roxton who gave him a grateful smile. "Don't worry, John, we'll findher."  
  
Once on the jungle floor, it didn't take the hunter long to find Marguerite's trail. "It looks like she's headed to the Zanga village."  
  
"At least she'll be safe there."  
  
Roxton looked at the older man, his greenish-brown eyes clearly saying that the beautiful heiress could find trouble anywhere, Then he set a pace which Challenger had a hard timekeeping.  
  
****  
  
Marguerite Krux stirred restlessly on the hard pallet. She'd been exhausted when arriving at the Zanga village, so after loading her with supplies, Assai had insisted that she sleep before beginning her journey. She'd been too tired both physically and emotionally to object.  
  
Her eyes fluttered open, There, sitting on the edge of the small pallet, was John Roxton, his warm, brown eyes beaming down at her, that funny little half-smile gracing his face. She reached up to brush an errant lock of his dark hair back into place. Her hand passed right through him as he faded away. "John," she sobbed out his name, but he had never been there. She took a deep breath and roughly brushed the tears from her eyes. She jumped up and hastily got her things together. The raven-haired explorer left the hut andsought out Assai.  
  
The small Zanga woman spotted Marguerite and came running over. "You aren't leaving? We hoped that you would join us for our evening meal."  
  
"I want to thank you for everything," Marguerite answered, "It is time for me to go." She clasped Assai's hands and smiled sadly. "Good-bye, Assai."  
  
Once away from the Zanga village, she realised that she had no plan, no destination. So she decided that the way she was headed was as good as any, and started determinedlytoward her future.  
  
****  
  
When Roxton and Challenger reached the Zanga village, they were met almost immediately by Assai. The petite Zanga was disturbed at not having been able to keep Marguerite from leaving.  
  
"I knew you would come for her," she told Roxton, "It was so obvious that something was wrong."  
  
"How long ago did she leave?"  
  
"Three, maybe four hours," She looked over at Challenger who seemed a bit winded, "You should rest and have something to eat before going after her."  
  
"No," Roxton countered, "I waited once, that is a mistake I am not going to repeat." He turned to the scientist, "Are you coming?" Then, without waiting for an answer, thehunter turned and left the heavily fortified village.  
  
With a heavy sigh, Challenger followed.  
  
It wasn't long before they had picked up Marguerite's trail. They followed her footsteps for hours. After several miles, her footsteps finally stopped at a swampy area which seemed to go on forever. She had trampled a large area, apparently searching out the easiest route either around, or through. Roxton found where she had resumed her forward progress. Adjusting his pack, he prepared to follow.  
  
"It will be dark soon," Challenger said reasonably, "we should make camp here and begin fresh in the morning." He sloughed his rucksack and placed it on theground.  
  
"There is plenty of daylight left," the determined hunter answered.  
  
"Let's be smart about this. It makes much more sense..."  
  
"Stay if you wish. I never asked you to come with me," Roxton growled. "I won't stop until I find her and bring her home."  
  
"It won't help Marguerite if we kill ourselves looking for her. You're not thinking straight."  
  
"I know what I'm doing."  
  
"Do you?" Challenger paused, then added, "what if she doesn't want to come back?"  
  
"No, no I don't believe that, and neither would you if--" he stopped and his whole body slumped. "George, I let her down. Marguerite trusted me, and I --I promised to trust her, and then--- I have to find her and explain. I can't just leave things like this." He looked at the older man and gave a helpless smile, "I need her."  
  
Taking pity on his friend, Challenger slung his rucksack onto his back and said quietly, "then let's find her."  
  
****  
  
The sun was long gone, but the two men slogged on. "Roxton, I can barely see," Challenger pointed out. "We have to stop."  
  
"Not until I find her," Lord John Roxton called back, not turning or slowing.  
  
Professor Challenger grabbed the hunter's arm saying, "Think of the time we'll lose by missing her trail in this miserable light. We could walk right past her!" He shook his head at the younger man and added quietly, "Marguerite will have to stop as well. We will be up and on our way long before she wakes."  
  
To Roxton, it felt like admitting defeat, but he knew that Challenger was right. "We start out at first light," was his condition.  
  
"At first light," the scientist agreed, relieved.  
  
Finding a spot dry enough for their camp was going to be a problem. In the dim moonlight, they could just make out a small rise which was their best bet. The scientist followed along tiredly, when suddenly the hunter vanished.  
  
****  
  
Marguerite sat up clutching her Zanga knife. Sleep fled instantly. She listened intently, but there was nothing aside from normal night sounds. Something, though, was not right.  
  
"John?" she asked the quiet night. She peered into the darkness, but nothing moved. She sat, frozen in place, until finally convincing herself that it must have been a dream which had awoken her. She laid back down. It was a long time before sleep returned.  
  
****  
  
  
  
  
  
It took almost two hours before George Challenger finally made his way down the steep incline to where John Roxton lay still as death. Even in the dim light, it was impossible to miss or mistake the odd angle of the English Lord's right leg, or the dark stain covering his pant leg from ankle to knee. The professor dropped down beside his younger friend and felt for a pulse. He sighed in relief upon finding the slow but steady beat. The hunter's cold, clammy skin had him worried further. It was obvious that the unconscious man was in shock. Challenger dug the grey blankets from their packs and tucked them around and under Roxton, then forced him to drink some water. "Now," he asked himself aloud, "how am I ever going to get you home?"  
  
The rest of the night, he tended to and fretted over the man who was now his sole companion. At first light, he started collecting wood to build a travois.  
  
The sun's first golden rays having faded to true daylight, and the travois ready, Challenger knew it was time to take a good look at his friend's leg. He couldn't move the hunter without splinting his leg. He took out his knife and slit the blood soaked pant leg from the knee down. His worst fears were confirmed: the jagged edge of his broken tibia protruded through the skin. The bone had to be set soon, or the young lord would be permanently crippled. "Of course," the scientist worried out loud, "if I don't do this properly, he will be crippled anyway."  
  
As Challenger quickly and carefully worked on the injured leg, he kept a watchful eye on Roxton's ashen face. He knew he was causing a great deal of pain, but the younger mannever moved or made a sound.  
  
It took two full days of dragging the heavy travois, stopping only when necessary to rest and force liquid into his unconscious charge, before Challenger finally reached the Zanga village. He was only too happy to turn care of the hunter over to the Zanga healers.  
  
At last, he collapsed onto the generously offered bed and slept deeply for the next twentyhours.  
  
****  
  
Marguerite was tired of being alone. Her back hurt, her feet hurt. She'd spent four days constantly pushing herself, although she had no idea toward what. She hated being alone, but she knew it was her own fault; she didn't deserve Lord John Roxton, but his face was there every time she closed her eyes, and sometimes even when she opened them.  
  
A quiet rustling behind her put her on guard. "Raptor," she whispered. She went for her pistol before remembering that she hadn't brought it as it would only has been extra baggage once the bullets were spent.  
  
"Well, Veronica," she said as she drew the large knife given her by the Zangas, "right now I could certainly use your skills."  
  
Suddenly, she was hit from behind. Her brown fedora went flying as she fell forward. The creature was heavy on her back, pushing her face into the dirt. Instead of claws ripping into her flesh, a decidedly human hand wrested the knife from her hand.  
  
He took a handful of her thick, dark hair and pulled her head back. She let out a wordless cry of pain. He peered into her dirt covered face and smiled, showing yellowed and broken teeth. In a language the heiress did not recognise, but easily understood, the man said, "My lucky day." Holding her own knife to her throat, he forced her to her feet. He looked her up and down appraisingly, "very lucky day. You'll bring a good price."  
  
Marguerite's mind grasped back, but the memories she needed fled, shrouded in mist. She should be able to charm this man into lowering the knife. She'd always been able to bend men to her will but right now, that knowledge eluded her. She tried to smile seductively, but all she managed was a hateful glare.  
  
Keeping the blade pressed tightly to her throat, so tightly that she could feel the slow trickle of blood where it bit into the soft flesh, he began to grope at her chest. "Don't touch me," She warned.  
  
The slaver grinned even wider and as if to demonstrate how helpless she was, he rippedher blouse.  
  
All the pain and frustration of the past several days gave her strength as she struck out, knocking the knife from her neck and out of his grasp with her left hand. Her right landed a blow directly to the bridge of his nose. As blood began to spurt from his injured face, she turned to run. The slaver caught her hair and threw her back to the ground. He landed atop her.  
  
"It's time you learned who is in control," he sputtered angrily, spitting blood. She clawed at his face. He laughed, balled up his fist, and struck her jaw hard. A bright light erupted behind her eyes. She felt herself falling into that light which suddenly broke apart into hundreds of tiny dots. Those dots spiralled, then zipped away, each in a different direction, leaving Marguerite in darkness.  
  
Floating in that darkness, she was dimly aware of rough hands on her bare skin and warm drops of blood landing on her face. With a supreme effort, she wrenched herself back to consciousness. The over-excited slaver had shoved her skirt to her waist and was trying to force her legs apart.  
  
She kept her eyes closed and ran her hand over the loose stones searching. Her fingertips found the prize. Doing her best to ignore to groping and slobbering, she scraped and pulled until she could wrap her hand around the knife's hilt. With all her strength, she drove the blade deep into the slaver's stomach. She kept pressure on the knife, forcing it up further and on into his chest. She felt the resistance of bone, and then the crunch as the ribs gave way.  
  
She continued to push, feeling the warm, sticky blood flow over her hand and down her arm before she was satisfied. "I told you not to touch me. Now, tell me again," she sneered, "who's in charge?"  
  
She pushed the dying man away from her and brushed her skirt back down as she stood. Her jaw ached, but nothing she couldn't handle. She pulled her shirt and camisole closed. She would need a needle and thread to fix them, but they could be salvaged.  
  
She never spared a glance for the would-be rapist who twitched and then lay still--his eyes already glazing over. Resuming her trek, Marguerite decided that she'd had enough of wandering and feeling sorry for herself. It was high time she found a newhome.  
  
****  
  
It has been nearly a month, Challenger," Lord Roxton complained. "My leg is fine. We have to get out there and find Marguerite.!!"  
  
"Using that leg too soon could cause permanent damage," the scientist replied reasonably.  
  
"Like that bloody matters! If I don't find Marguerite....." he stopped his tirade. He hadn't meant to snap at the older man. It was as if he were in the grip of a madness, a fever that only Marguerite could cure. "I'm sorry," he apologised. His eyes pleaded with his friend, "Please, we have to find her."  
  
"And we will. However, you won't be able to go far until that leg is completely healed. Stand on it now and you could do irreparable damage."  
  
Before the handsome hunter could voice his retort, the elevator began to move. "Marguerite," he said with hope and conviction. He jumped up, and was halfway to the elevator when a wavy blonde mane framing the pretty, young face of the jungle girl came into view.  
  
"Veronica," Roxton said. He couldn't keep the disappointment from his voice.  
  
She smiled and lept into the room, obviously happy to be home. Roxton smiled a sincere, but dispirited welcome and opened his mouth to speak when his leg gave out and he collapsed. His involuntary cry of pain brought both of his friends immediately to his side.  
  
"I told you to stay off that leg!" the scientist scolded gruffly.  
  
The hunter's face had turned a pasty grey. Challenger met Veronica's eyes and nodded. The two of them grunted with the effort of lifting Roxton and dragging him to the settee. Challenger pushed aside the pant leg which had been split to accommodate the splint and plaster which was supposed to help the leg heal straight. The wrappings were loose, the splint broken. Roxton's leg would have to be reset.  
  
While the scientist worked, Roxton grimaced and complained, but the tightness in his jaw, and the white pinched lines at the corners of his mouth gave witness to the great amount of pain he was experiencing.  
  
As the older man finished bandaging the freshly set bone, Veronica's curiosity could wait no longer. "What happened?" She asked.  
  
She was given a sketchy explaination of Roxton's tumble. "I'm sure that Marguerite is a very devoted nurse," She smirked, "I'm a bit surprised that she left you like this." She quickly sobered upon seeing the expressions on the two men's faces. "What's wrong with Marguerite?"  
  
"She's gone," Challanger answered simply.  
  
"Gone?" she asked incredulously.  
  
Roxton hung his head and admitted ashamedly, "I drove her away."  
  
"That's not exactly true."  
  
Roxton never got the chance to respond, as the jungle girl demanded, "So where is she?"  
  
Challenger sat heavily into a chair. He suddenly looked older than his years, and tired beyond bearing, "It was my fault." the hunter started to disagree, but the professor silenced him with a look. "I gave an ultimatum. I was just tired of the bickering--it seems so silly now. "What I wouldn't do to have a little of that spirited fighting now. I never wanted her to leave," he turned to Roxton and added, "I promise you that."  
  
The younger man nodded, letting his friend know that he held no blame against him.  
  
"We went looking for her immediately, but then Roxton broke his leg."  
  
"You should have kept going," Roxton muttered.  
  
Challenger ignored him. He'd heard it a dozen times every day since they'd returned. He continued, "The Zanga kept up the search for us. They found where Marguerite had been attacked by a slaver. Evidentally our girl put up quite a fight. She killed the slaver and left on her own. They lost her trail a few days later. All they brought back is her hat."  
  
They all sat silently, then Roxton said, "As soon as this leg is better, I am going after her and I won't be back without her."  
  
"Well that won't be for quite a while since you disregarded my warnings about staying offof your leg."  
  
"Malone and I can leave first thing in the morning. We'll find her," Veronica said with certainty. She was unsettled by the quick exchange of uncomfortable looks between the two men. She knew that they didn't doubt her tracking skills. Although she wasn't sure that she really wanted to hear the answer, she asked in a small voice, "Where is Malone? He can't be gone too?"  
  
"He needed some time to himself," Challenger said with a reassuring voice, "Time to work things out. You might say that he is on a voyage of discovery."  
  
This isn't exactly the homecoming I had envisioned," the jungle girl said dryly.  
  
"Veronica," Roxton was contrite. He had been so involved in his own pain, both physical and emotional, that he had not even welcomed her back. "It is good to have you home."  
  
Challenger took her hand saying, "my dear, we've all missed you."  
  
She studied him for a moment, then smiled and hugged him.  
  
"Soon," the scientist continued, "we'll have our family back together."  
  
****  
  
  
  
  
  
The jungle was spinning. The young man grabbed his head with his right hand. He pressed hard against his temple, trying to force himself to retain consciousness. His blonde hair was crusty with brown, dried blood. His left arm hung uselessly at his side. A large, jagged gash crossed his shoulder and ran down into his chest. His fever was worse.  
  
Somehow he kept stumbling forward. but he knew that unless he got help soon, he would die. His eyes burned; it was nearly impossible to keep them open. He fell and picked himself up a dozen times until he no longer had the strength to regain his footing. Before he passed out again, Edward Malone watched as shadows crossed his path. He tried to form the word "help", but it took too much effort for his drained body, and blackness overcame him.  
  
****  
  
Malone was beginning to feel better. He no longer felt as if lava flowed through his veins. His eyes were dry and gritty, and it hurt to use them. The room was kept in darkness as the slightest light stabbed clear through to the back of his skull. His pain was centred back in his shoulder where it had begun.  
  
He heard someone enter the room. The American journalist waited, listening to the approaching footsteps. When they stopped by his side, he opened his sandpaper eye lids, and looked up into a familiar, beautiful face, surrounded by a cloud of unruly dark hair.  
  
"I made it," he mumbled, "I'm home." Then he again lost consciousness.  
  
****  
  
"I've waited long enough," Lord John Roxton proclaimed as he strapped on his pistols. "the cast is off, my leg is fine."  
  
"Your muscles have atrophied," Challenger disagreed, "it will take time to build them back up. My new exercise machine...."  
  
The hunter wasn't listening. He picked up his rifle saying, "are you coming?"  
  
Even as the scientist had voiced his opinion, he'd known that it would be disregarded. He and Veronica were ready to follow the impatient Lord, when the elevator began to creak.  
  
Although Roxton warned himself against disappointment, he could not keep himself from visualising the thick, dark tresses framing the lovely face of his Marguerite. He watched her alight from the elevator, her blue-grey eyes smiling at him. He took one hesitant step toward her before Ned Malone stepped right through his vision.  
  
"Ned?" Veronica said uncertainly, then she squealed, "Ned!" and rushed forward, throwing her arms around him. Grinning broadly, he hugged her back.  
  
"Good to have you back, Malone," George Challenger said, clapping him on the shoulder.  
  
Roxton didn't move. His mouth opened and closed twice before he managed to say with sincerity, "Welcome home, Neddy-boy."  
  
Malone felt a twinge of regret that Veronica was so quick to release him, but if they were to be "just friends", so be it--for now. "I'm glad you waited for me," he said noting their packs.  
  
"This isn't a regular hunting trip," the scientist said, "we're going to search for..."  
  
"Marguerite," Malone finished.  
  
"You've seen her?" Roxton was incredulous. Life suddenly surged back into his limbs. "Where is she?"  
  
"She made me promise not to tell, but..."  
  
The hunter's eyes darkened to a deadly shade of green as he grabbed Malone's shirt front and demanded, "You tell me where she is!" Roxton looked abashedly down at his white knuckled fists. He had torn Malone's shirt, and left an angry red welt on his chest. He let go and backed away. He managed to calm himself, but his control was unsteady. Feeling as if he was in the grip of a steadily worsening fever, he pleaded, "please, Malone. You have to help me find her."  
  
The journalist straightened his shirt and brought himself up a little shakily. "It is not a promise I ever intended to keep," he said quietly, "I think Marguerite will forgive me." he thought about it for a second, then added ruefully, "either that or she'll kill me."  
  
"She's all right?"  
  
"She's Marguerite," was the younger man's simple answer.  
  
The hunter felt as if a great weight had been lifted from him. They agreed to give Malone time to change and repack before leaving. The reporter left his current journal with Roxton, the easiest way to answer his endless questions.  
  
After taking the elevator to the jungle floor, Roxton sat and began to read on the page which Malone had indicated:  
  
A rustling in the brush to my right was the only warning I had. A raptor lept out at me. I brought my rifle to bear, and took it down with one shot. But, it was my last bullet, and raptors never hunt alone.  
  
I felt the claws rip into my back before I heard anything. I fell to the ground with the raptor atop me. It's razor sharp teeth sunk deep into my shoulder. The shredding of my flesh was almost enough to cause me to black out, but God gave me strength, and I reached my knife. I drove the blade deep into the creature's neck, and it fell lifeless. I had barely scrabbled away from it when the third raptor appeared. I bolted from it, but it seemed content to feed on it's former hunting mate.  
  
The elevator was grinding toward him, so Roxton shoved the journal into his rucksack and slung the pack onto his back. Together, the four explorers retraced Malone's path knowing that Marguerite was at it's end.  
  
****  
  
By the time they reached the swamp, it was too dark to continue. This time Roxton was first to suggest making camp. He had learned his lesson the last time, and was not going to chance losing anymore time because of a misplaced step in the darkness. Having finished his obligatory chores, the hunter settled down by the fire to continue reading:  
  
I don't know how long I wandered; a day, a week? I do know that if I had not happened upon the Chappaei hunting party, I would have died. The last I remember, a deeply tanned man with black hair and equally dark eyes threw me over his shoulder.  
  
It was several days before I was conscious again. The first face I saw was very familiar and surprisingly welcome: Marguerite Krux. Seeing her, I thought that I had somehow made it back home to the treehouse. I later discovered that she had, for her own, as yet undisclosed reasons, left the treehouse. We are in the Chappaei city. They are descendants of the Inca and seem very friendly.  
  
As my health improves, Marguerite has been showing me around the city. She is treated like royalty. They call her Omenda, which means kissed by the Gods. She told me it is because she is able to read their ancient writings which they long ago lost the ability to do. She is teaching many of the natives to read and write the language of their ancestors. She looks quite exotic dressed in the flowing robes of the Chappaei.  
  
It strikes me funny to see Marguerite interact with the city children. She seems happiest when teaching and caring for them. I just never saw her as the motherly type.  
  
Roxton put the journal away and took his turn at keeping watch. At least he felt reassured that Marguerite was safe until he could reach her.  
  
****  
  
  
  
  
  
Several days of slogging toward the Chappaei city was taking it's toll on the explorers. Their only respite was the hunting they were forced to engage in to supplement their meagre supplies, and the hunting was even more demanding than their hike. Each night, they fell exhaustedly into their bedrolls, but did not feel refreshed when starting the next day.  
  
"We have to slow our pace," Challenger declared reasonably. Roxton had begun limping again, and the others were showing signs of exhaustion.  
  
The hunter nodded his agreement, "you need to rest. Take a day and relax. I'll go on alone and meet you at the city." He turned and continued on his way. The others sighed, and wordlessly followed him.  
  
Later that day, Malone got the bug to hurry. He started to chatter excitedly, "this is where I was attacked by the raptors. We're close. Very close. We may even make the city tomorrow!" He thought that Roxton might relax, and even stop for an early night, but knowing that he was so close to his objective just caused him to push harder.  
  
When they finally did make camp for the night, Roxton again turned to his friend's journal. He skipped page after page describing the city and people, until he found the name he was looking for:  
  
Marguerite claims to be happy, but I worry about her. There is a sadness in her eyes that never goes away. She refuses to even discuss returning to the treehouse with me. Whenever I broach the subject of our friends, she ignores it or walks away. When I finally pressed her about Roxton, she flew into a rage. I know that I pushed way too hard, but with Marguerite, it seems that I always end up going too far.  
  
I think though that there is more bothering her, and not just her. A strange undercurrent seems to be effecting everyone. The entire feel of the city has changed.  
  
Marguerite finally came to see me again. She is in a dreadful hurry to have me gone, and not because of our fight. Something is wrong here. There is a fear I hadn't felt before. I have tried to ask Marguerite, but she will only explain that the city is making preparations for harvest. I am convinced that there is much more going on and that Marguerite knows exactly what it is. It is a mystery that will have to wait until I return, as I have every intention of doing, with Roxton.  
  
When dear Miss Krux woke me at first light, with provisions for my journey, then offered to help me pack and accompany me to the city gates, I realised that I had overstayed my welcome. We said our farewells, and she warned me not to stop until I was well away from the city. I tried one last time to convince her to return with me, but she was her usual obstinant self. Then, she extracted a promise from me that I cannot in good conscience keep: she made me promise to not tell where she is or even that I have seen her. I can not do that to Roxton, or to Marguerite. She claims that no one will be looking for her anyway, but will not, as usual, explain. I will return to the treehouse as quickly as I can. I am positive that our return trip will be even faster.  
  
Finishing the journal's last entry, Roxton closed the book thoughtfully, and put it away. Ned had a keen insight, although he did tend to the dramatic. The hunter determined to break camp at daybreak. He ran his hand through his dark hair and fiddled with his rifle checking for non-existent dirt. The others had already fallen asleep. Roxton was too filled with nervous anticipation to sleep. His rest would come after he found Marguerite.  
  
****  
  
Although she had come to love her life with the Chappaei people, vivid dreams of Lord John Roxton continued to fill Marguerite Krux's sleep. Regretfully, she opened her grey eyes. Once again, her dream had spilled over into reality. Roxton's handsome face smiled down at her. She raised her hand, but stopped an inch from his cheek. She knew that the instant she touched him, he would disappear. Maybe if she held off, the vision might stay a few seconds longer.  
  
"If only you were real," she whispered dreamily. She could no longer resist the temptation to touch the dream man. She brought her fingers to his lips and gently touched warm skin. He placed a feathery kiss against her fingertips.  
  
She jerked her hand away and sat up, now completely awake. "John?" she asked incredulously.  
  
"It's me, Marguerite," he answered taking her into his arms. He kissed the top of her head.  
  
Her hands rested against his chest. He felt solid. She pushed back far enough to study his face. She still wasn't convinced that he was actually here, that she wasn't losing her mind.  
  
"Are you real?" she whispered, almost afraid of the answer.  
  
In response, Roxton's mouth descended to hers. The gentle caress of his lips banished all doubts as to his reality. She leaned close to him and allowed their kiss to deepen. She would have been content to remain in his arms, inviting further intimacies, but a flash of lucidity stopped her. She shoved him away and jumped from her bed. The surprised look on his face was so endearing, that she almost gave in, but she steeled herself and demanded, "Why are you here?"  
  
"To bring you home," he answered simply.  
  
"I am home."  
  
His heart sank. He stood and took a step toward her, but she backed away. Standing there in her pale blue, ethereal gown, her raven hair cascading over her shoulders, and her grey eyes flashing, the hunter feared that he had indeed lost her. But her earlier actions gave him hope, "Marguerite, I'm sorry....."  
  
"I never asked you to come after me; I didn't want you to come here."  
  
"You knew I would."  
  
"Actually, I figured that you and Challenger would be enjoying your new- found peace and quiet in the treehouse."  
  
"It's too quiet," he answered, approaching her again.  
  
"You had better get used to it," she turned and leaned against the window sill, pretending to look out on the city. "I am staying right here."  
  
"Then you had better make room for me."  
  
She turned back, confusion filling her face.  
  
"I'm not leaving without you."  
  
"John," a look of understanding softened her eyes, "you can't stay here. You can't ever forgive or forget my past." She smiled, saying, "Go home, you have done your duty as 'protector of the expedition'. I choose to stay here. Let go of your guilt."  
  
"Guilt? You think guilt brought me here?" he crossed the space between them and grabbed her wrists before she could move away. He didn't wait for an answer, but continued, "I told you once that I would never let you go, and I won't. I can't. You are a part of me," his left hand slid up her arm to cup her face. Softly, he added, "The best part."  
  
Her voice broke as she asked, "And my past?"  
  
"It doesn't matter, I was a fool to think it did," he assured her. "Marguerite, everything that has happened, everything you have done has made you who you are today. I wouldn't change a thing." He pulled her into his arms, "now, are we staying here, or returning to the treehouse?"  
  
She looked into his greenish-brown eyes searching for any sign of deceit, "this isn't just duty? You feeling responsible for me because I'm part of the expedition?"  
  
He smiled and hugged her tightly, "Believe me, I am being purely selfish here."  
  
She was silent for a long while. Her voice broke as she said, "But it took you so long!"  
  
"And every minute was torture," the hunter assured her, then chuckled as he added, "you can ask Challenger."  
  
"Malone told you where I was."  
  
"I'd have broken his neck if he hadn't." Remembering his tirade, he admitted, "I nearly did."  
  
"Damn that man," but there was no anger in her voice, "he promised."  
  
"And I will be grateful for the rest of my life that he broke that promise."  
  
"Me too," she whispered against his parted lips. Her arms slipped around him, and she pressed her body tightly against his. Untucking his shirt, she slid her hands beneath, enjoying the feel of his tanned skin against her fingers. She kneaded his back up to his shoulders, and then let her fingernails trace a languid route back down his spine. When she reached the small of his back, he groaned and gathered her even closer. His mouth left a trail of hot kisses to the pulse in her neck. She threw her head back, exposing sensitive skin to his exploration. His tongue drew whorls on her throat. He pushed the gauzy gown from her shoulders, it fell to form a soft pool at her feet. His tongue continued on, past the shadowed "v" at the base of her white throat and on to the valley between her breasts. He traced a path up one soft mound, and when his mouth encircled the dark pink centre, caressing with his tongue and sucking gently, she sighed in complete surrender. He lifted her up and carried her back to the small bed. Roxton delayed only long enough to remove his own clothing before joining her. He had dreamt of this moment since the morning he'd found her gone, and he wanted to make the most of it-- to make it last; but his body throbbed with urgency. Marguerite's lithe body rubbing insistently against him destroyed what little control he had left. He paused above her for just seconds, smiling at her cry of impatience. She wrapped her legs around him, drawing him down and forcing him deep inside of her. They moved in perfect rhythm, until finally they lay spent in each other's arms.  
  
Roxton placed light kisses across her forehead as he made the statement, "so you are coming back with us."  
  
"John," she started to pull away, but his arms tightened around her, "It has been pretty well proven that we don't work."  
  
"No, Marguerite," he twisted to look directly into her eyes, "If there is one thing on this whole bloody plateau I am sure of, it's us."  
  
"And the next time I do something that goes against your moral code?"  
  
"We'll work through it together."  
  
"I will let you down," she warned.  
  
"Never," he promised as he kissed the pout from her lips.  
  
****  
  
  
  
  
  
Lord John Roxton's limp was more pronounced as he and Marguerite Krux approached the hut where in their friends were resting. They had been put up in the same hut Malone had stayed in on his previous sojourn. All three exhausted explorers were sleeping soundly.  
  
Quietly, so as not to wake the others, the heiress asked with concern, "You said your leg had healed."  
  
"It just gets sore," he assured her.  
  
"But it seems worse,"  
  
"Humm, could be someone was a bit too aggressive...." she slapped his arm to keep him from continuing.  
  
"If you blame anyone, blame yourself. Telling me about your leg wasn't exactly first on your list."  
  
"Well, Marguerite, I hadn't expected quite so vigorous a welcome."  
  
"No? As I recall, it was at your instigation."  
  
"Yes, well, I hadn't planned on carrying you across a room."  
  
"I didn't ask you to."  
  
"We couldn't very well have stood in the bloody window and....."  
  
"My legs work perfectly fine. I could have walked."  
  
"I'll remember that next time. I think you may have put on weight."  
  
"WHAT? Lord Roxton, if you think there will ever be a 'next time'...."  
  
"Well, this sounds familiar," Veronica said coming up behind them. Their argument had gotten steadily louder until they'd awakened the jungle girl. She looked out at the sun which stood high in the sky, realising it had been hours since Roxton had gone to find Marguerite. "You sure took your time."  
  
"Veronica," Marguerite cried and threw her arms around her friend. "It is good to see you. I knew you would make it back." At her friend's amused and suggestive smile, she added, "John told me how hard he had pushed you all to get here. We thought it best to let you sleep a while longer."  
  
"Right," she answered, unconvinced.  
  
Challenger and Malone had joined the group. Marguerite hugged the older man, thanking him and refusing his apologies. She ignored the journalist. He tried to speak to her, but she turned her back to him, punishing him for breaking his promise. Stubbornly refusing to let him know that he'd done her a favour.  
  
"We can continue this later," Veronica interjected, "We need to be going. I have a bad feeling about this place."  
  
Marguerite dismissed her worries, "I have lived with these people for months and there is nothing to worry about."  
  
The blonde jungle girl gave her a dirty look, thinking sarcastically, "And you are really the one to give a character reference." Aloud, she said, "regardless, I vote we get out of here, now."  
  
"I have to agree with Veronica," Malone added.  
  
"Big surprise," Marguerite muttered under her breath. She had still not spared the reported so much as a glance.  
  
"When I was here before, everything seemed fine," Malone continued, "but then I noticed that something was definitely wrong. "I don't think we want to stick around to find out what." He turned to the stubborn, dark haired woman and asked directly, "do we, Marguerite?"  
  
"There is no problem," she retorted, "That has all been resolved."  
  
"What's been resolved?" asked Roxton.  
  
Before Marguerite could phrase an answer, a young Chappaei man interrupted. He stood in the doorway, bowing. He spoke in his native language, and the heiress answered in kind. She turned back to her friends, "We've been invited to dinner with the King."  
  
Malone spoke quickly, "tell him thanks, but no thanks."  
  
"Definitely bad form," Marguerite sneered, "Besides, it is more a command than an invitation."  
  
"By your own words, Malone," Roxton added, "these people took you in and saved your life. They also took care of Marguerite until I....we could find her. Do you really want to insult their King?"  
  
Challenger concurred, "We'll meet the King, have dinner, and get an early start. We all need a good night's sleep. And Roxton needs to rest his leg as much as possible."  
  
Marguerite waited for everyone to agree, then turned back to the young Chappaei. After she spoke briefly, he smiled, bowed again, and ran from the hut.  
  
"Looks like we are dining with royalty," Malone acquiesced  
  
****.  
  
  
  
  
  
The five explorers spent the day resting in Marguerite's hut. After their days long trek, it was a much needed quiescence. The heiress was quiet and pensive, giving no answers to the flurry of questions directed at her, and finally the others gave up trying.  
  
The sun was waning when they were led to the king's dining hall. They were directed to various spots around the long, low table, and they remained standing while the king, accompanied by several others entered the room.  
  
The king spoke to Marguerite who bowed, then introduced each of her friends. The king's eyes narrowed when she came to Lord Roxton. She then pointed out three of the men in the entourage: Princes Techak, Reenet, and Croee. The others, being guards, were not introduced. The three princes then took their places around the table, Techak situated himself between Roxton and Marguerite.  
  
Spreading his hands in invitation, the king sat on the bolster pillow which served as a chair, and the others followed suit.  
  
During the meal, Marguerite, on the King's left, acted as interpreter. Veronica and Malone had little to say, but Challenger was loaded with questions, which King Eeaulon answered patiently, though a bit smugly, through Marguerite. Roxton sat and quietly seethed at the overly solicitous attention Techak paid the beautiful heiress.  
  
As the final course was being cleared, the king turned to Marguerite and began a whispered conversation. Her answers were short and obviously not to the king's liking. Finally, he stood, spread his arms, and spoke in a loud and imperious voice. Then he looked expectantly at the woman to his left. To Roxton, he appeared very much like the cat who ate the canary.  
  
Marguerite seemed surprised and a bit leery as she translated King Eeaulon's words, "We've all been invited to stay for Prince Techak's wedding tomorrow."  
  
"Tell the king that we are honoured," Challenger answered for them all, but we really must be leaving first thing in the morning."  
  
She turned back to Eeaulon and relayed their regrets. She continued to converse in his tongue. At one point, she laughed derisively. The king was getting angry. Roxton bent forward to see around Techak just in time to watch Marguerite's face go pale. She shook her head and continued to argue. At one point, she turned and met Roxton's eyes. When she again spoke Eeaulon, the argument appeared to be over. The king rose with a self- satisfied smile. Everyone at the table stood as well. Smiling broadly, Prince Techak took Marguerite's hands and bowed over them. She inclined her head in response. He continued to hold onto her hands until Eeaulon turned to leave. Techak joined the entourage and proceeded from the room.  
  
"What was all that about?" asked a very irritated John Roxton.  
  
"It was nothing," Marguerite answered in a tone Roxton recognized all too well. It always meant she was hiding something.  
  
Before he could inquire further, Malone joined them asking, "Isn't that Techak the same guy who followed you around like a puppy dog?"  
  
She ignored all questions and ushered them from the room saying, "You have an early morning and a long trip tomorrow, and it is quite late."  
  
"You mean 'we'," Roxton corrected.  
  
She looked at him blankly, then turned and began to leave.  
  
"Marguerite!" he grabbed her arm, but she shrugged him off and continued walking.  
  
****  
  
After they were safely ensconced in Marguerite's hut, the four other adventurers turned to her as one and Roxton asked, "Are you going to tell us what that was all about?"  
  
"Nothing. King Eeaulon and I just don't see eye to eye on.....things." Seeing the hunter's disbelieving look, she repeated, "it's nothing." Quickly, she changed the subject pointing out the blankets and cushions laying in four neat piles, "it is late and tomorrow is going to be a long day."  
  
Roxton wouldn't let it drop, "then you are going with us." She started to leave the room without answering, so he insisted, "you are coming?"  
  
Quietly, she answered, "I can't." She looked into the hunter's green-brown eyes helplessly.  
  
Stepping closer to her, he asked, "Why not, what is going on?"  
  
"I,....I promised to stay for Prince Techak's wedding."  
  
"Send your regrets."  
  
"It's not that easy."  
  
Roxton's eyes narrowed as he studied the woman he loved, "tell me what is really going on here." She stood silently, with the same nervous look she always had when he caught her in a lie. "I won't leave until you do," he promised.  
  
"No!" She exclaimed much too loudly, then more calmly she repeated, "no, you, all of you, have to leave."  
  
"Not without a good reason," he stubbornly responded.  
  
"John," she answered slowly, "I'm the bride."  
  
"They're forcing you to marry him?" was the hunter's angry outcry.  
  
"It's everything I want," she responded petulantly. "I will be richer and more powerful than even I had ever dreamed."  
  
"Why am I not surprised," Veronica said dryly.  
  
"No," Roxton growled and shook his head, "I don't believe it. I know you better than that." She adamantly remained silent. "Marguerite?"  
  
Angrily, she blurted out, "did you really think I would be happy living in that treehouse forever? You can't promise me that we will ever get off of this bloody plateau, and what can you offer me here?" The hurt look on his face almost made her crumble, but she continued, "Techak's palace is so much more my style."  
  
Roxton stared at her in disbelief, "if that's really the way you want it."  
  
"It is," she glared defiantly at him.  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Right," she turned stiffly and left the room.  
  
Roxton had nowhere to go, there were only two rooms in the hut; the large living area where his friends were busying themselves laying out blankets, and the bedroom where Marguerite had gone. He looked imploringly to Challenger. The scientist had nothing helpful to add. He just shook his head, "get some sleep, she's just upset right now. It will all be different in the morning." He gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile, then crawled into his bedroll hoping that he was right.  
  
****  
  
Roxton had tossed and turned long enough. He refused to leave things like this. He had come too far and loved Marguerite too long to quit now. He could hear the even breathing of his friends, letting him know that they at least had been able to find the sleep which eluded him. Quietly, not wanting to wake them, he slid from his bedroll, and entered Marguerite's room.  
  
She was sitting in a wooden chair by the window, gazing into the clear night. Even though she heard him approach, she remained determinedly turned away from him. Roxton took her chin in his hand, and gently turned her face to his. Her tough facade was gone. Tears glistened on her cheeks. He winced as he crouched beside her. "It's okay," he smiled his reassurance, "I'm not going to lose you now."  
  
She smiled back, saying softly, "Have you any idea how wonderful you are?"  
  
"Just determined."  
  
Her wan smile faded, "It will take more than that this time."  
  
He brushed a few unruly raven locks back from her face saying, "What ever it is, we'll face it together."  
  
"We can't, you have to leave with the others. Please, John."  
  
"Not without you, so you had better tell me the whole story."  
  
Marguerite was silent for a long while, studying his eyes, the resolved set to his mouth. She was incredulous that no matter what happened, what ever she did, this man was always there for her. Sometimes it took a while. Often they had to work it through, but he always came back. If only she had learned this lesson earlier. She had to hold her tongue to keep from blurting out her feelings. She turned back to the window and took a deep breath before speaking, "this city was a different place when I first arrived. People were happy, prosperous, they loved their king. CheeRo was king then. He was fascinated that I could speak and read their language. They had never before met any outsider who could. They have stacks of ancient texts which no one has been able to read in several hundred years. He showed them to me, and when he found that I could indeed read them, he called me Omenda, and he asked me to translate the texts and teach him and his advisors the ancient knowledge. The story of how they came to the plateau is supposed to be included somewhere in the moldy mess, so I agreed. I thought I could stay until I found the way off the plateau. I spent weeks in their archives."  
  
"What I didn't know was that the king's chief advisor, Eeaulon, was looking for something more than history and science. He is a mad man intent on power. He stayed close to me while I transcribed their texts. He was so intent on learning as much as he could. I should have realised what he was looking for, but I was too engrossed in my own quest, a way off the plateau. And then I found what he wanted: a way for him to legally become king. In the distant past, if the king died without an heir, the chief advisor was made king. CheeRo only had one son, and he died in a hunting accident while with the same hunting party which found Malone. And I don't think the prince's death was any accident. Then, shortly after, CheeRo took ill quite suddenly and died."  
  
"Eeaulon killed the real king."  
  
"I don't know." She sounded totally exasperated, "I can't prove it. But, yes, I am sure he did. Now Eeaulon is in power, and it's all my fault."  
  
"If you hadn't come across that old law, he would have found another way," Roxton reassured her. "Power hungry men always find a way. Is this what he is using to make you marry his son?" Before she could answer, he asked, "Why is he so insistent that you marry Prince bulging muscles?"  
  
"There's an old legend which tells that an outsider will come, that she will speak the old tongue, and read the ancient texts, and she will be called Omenda meaning she who is kissed by the gods."  
  
"Does it say how beautiful this stranger is?" Roxton smirked.  
  
"As a matter of fact," she couldn't help looking at him and smiling back, but she sobered quickly. "According to the legend, the man she marries will become the most powerful and prosperous king who has ever reigned."  
  
"I can see where he would find that attractive, but still, you aren't responsible..."  
  
"I am responsible for so much more than that. He has revived the ancient gods of their people, blood thirsty gods. He has brought back ritual sacrifice; human sacrifice. Eeaulon was not easily accepted as king. The people don't like or trust him. But to celebrate his coronation, he rounded up 20 men who just happened to be the loudest dissenters. They were the first sacrifices. Since then, anyone who speaks against the king ends up the next sacrifice. The people have grudgingly accepted him. They are too afraid not to. But they are unhappy and frightened. They no longer own their own land, Eeaulon made everything the property of the crown. The people are little more than servants now. When Malone was brought here, Eeaulon thought he would take me with him when he left, so he decided to sacrifice him. I got him out only minutes before the guards came to take him to the altar. I made him promise not to return, but of course being Malone, he had to come back."  
  
"You will have to forgive him for that."  
  
"Eventually."  
  
"There has to be another way to help these people. You can't marry that pompous, narcissistic, lothario."  
  
"I don't have a choice."  
  
Suddenly, Roxton understood all too well what she meant, "so either you marry him, or they sacrifice you."  
  
"Not me," she answered quietly.  
  
"Me?" when she nodded, he kissed the tip of her nose saying, "It won't happen." He took her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. "It will be okay. Trust me?"  
  
She stood a long while, weighing his confidence against her fears. She managed a half smile, and said in a low voice, "yes." The simple answer made Roxton's heart leap.  
  
Despite the danger, he couldn't resist the pull of her lips. His mouth touched hers tentatively. Sometimes she seemed more fragile than his mother's china. She'd been badly hurt in the past, of that he was sure, and he resolved to never let her be hurt like that again. Her lips parted against his as her fingers trailed up his chest to meet and lace together at the back of his neck. She twisted her fingers into his thick, dark hair. His arms tightened around her, forcing her close. The gauzy purple fabric of her dress slipped from her shoulders and Roxton's lips were quick to explore the exposed flesh. He pushed the compliant fabric further, and his mouth was swift to take advantage.  
  
Reluctantly, Marguerite pushed him away, saying, "don't." They were both breathing heavily and unevenly. She rested her head on his chest while she gained control of her senses.  
  
"Marguerite," he groaned softly, pulling her gown back into place, "you are going to be the death of me."  
  
"That's what I am trying to avoid," she responded. She took his flushed face in her hands, "Please just leave. If anything happened to you I couldn't bear it."  
  
He smiled and took her hands in his, kissing the palms, "We're in this together, Marguerite. I won't leave you to face this alone."  
  
"Please, as long as I know you are safe, I can do this. Once I've helped put things right, I'll come back to..." she trailed off, her voice cracking, then started again, "I'll come back to the treehouse."  
  
Roxton shook his head, "I'm not letting you marry that arrogant lout."  
  
"You won't LET me?" she bristled.  
  
"That's right," he drew her back into his arms. "Are you going to quibble about words, or do you want to marry your prince?"  
  
"He's not 'my prince', and I am in no hurry to marry anyone!" She struggled half-heartedly to escape his embrace.  
  
"Then we'd better get you out of here."  
  
"I love your stubbornness."  
  
"Humm....." he considered, "only my stubbornness?"  
  
She quickly twisted out of his arms and changed the subject, "we've already been through this."  
  
"You've read the ancient texts."  
  
"Some of them."  
  
"There must be some way to challenge this 'marriage' so that Eeaulon will have no recourse."  
  
"You don't want to go there, John."  
  
"Whatever it takes, Marguerite," She didn't protest when he took her back into his arms. He hugged her fiercely, possessively and repeated, "whatever it takes."  
  
****  
  
  
  
  
  
"You can't expect us to just leave you here," Challenger insisted. The argument seemed interminable. Roxton and Marguerite had spent valuable time explaining their plan, and were absolutely insistent that the other explorers leave. Their friends were equally assertive that they stay.  
  
"This is not your fight," Marguerite claimed yet again, "It is my fault this city is being destroyed, and you can't help. Besides," she continued haughtily, not wanting to admit that she was afraid for their safety, "you would only be in the way."  
  
Veronica studied the older woman. For all their fights, there was a genuine affection and trust between the two. After careful consideration, she said, "We'll go....."  
  
Immediately, Challenger interrupted, "We stay together."  
  
Calmly, the jungle girl laid a hand on his arm and continued, "we will go, but only to the clearing. If you both don't join us in twenty-four hours, we will be back for you." Impetuously, she hugged the heiress, "you two better be okay."  
  
Malone clasped hands with Roxton saying, "Good luck," and then turned to Marguerite saying, "Hell of a time to develop a conscience."  
  
Challenger finally acquiesced, "we won't be far."  
  
As their friends left, Marguerite was suddenly unsure of her decision. The urge to join them in stealing out of the city was almost overwhelming. Then Lord Roxton's strong arm went around her, squeezing her gently, and she knew she was doing the right thing. "If anything goes wrong," she warned him, "I am blaming you."  
  
He merely smiled in return, and they walked together back to the hut to await daybreak.  
  
****  
  
The morning was heralded by a dull and colourless sunrise, unusual for the plateau. Right on cue, four older women showed and ushered Marguerite away, leaving Roxton alone with his thoughts. He wandered around the hut feeling useless. He did so hate waiting. His mind kept replaying the night before.  
  
She'd explained both the marriage challenge and the special circumstances which involved the Omenda. As long as King Eeaulon didn't catch on, if Roxton won the challenge, the rest should follow easily. It was a challenge he couldn't afford to lose.  
  
A gong tolled to announce the ceremony. Lord Roxton headed for the altar stone, joining a large and still growing crowd. The ceremonial fires had already been lit. The fires roared in a deep pit which surrounded altar; the round dais could be reached only by one of two stone bridges which spanned the blazing pit. The altar itself sent a chill through the hunter despite the intense heat of the flames. At the centre of the dais, the altar stone stood upright, copper shackles embedded at each corner. The grey stone was stained brown where the blood of centuries of bound victims had flowed. A priest, looking for all the world like the stereo-typical witch doctor, stood before the stone.  
  
"Such a cheerful place for a wedding," Lord Roxton thought sarcastically.  
  
As the gong sounded again, a path parted in the crowd. The King, in a tall, feathered crown, and matching cape, both a full rainbow of colour, walked toward the dais. His eyes met those of the explorer, and his smug smile made Roxton bristle.  
  
Following close behind the self-satisfied monarch, was Marguerite. She was regally dressed in a blue and green gown, heavily embroidered with silver, which brushed the gown as she walked. Her hair was adorned with silver ribbons and blue feathers. Bringing up the end of the procession were two of the kings guards, both carrying a sword in each hand which were crossed at their chests.  
  
Not once did Marguerite glance toward the hunter. When the cortege reached the bridge, Eeaulon stood aside, and the heiress crossed alone. The two guards also remained behind, one at either side of the bridge.  
  
Marguerite and Techak stood in front of the priest. The English Lord had been so intently watching the bridal party, that he had not even seen the prince approach. The priest raised his arms and began to speak. The words were mere gibberish to Roxton, but he listened purposefully for the right phrase as Marguerite had instructed. She had not warned him that there would be such a long speech. As the priest continued to speak, he placed one hand on Marguerite's head, the other on Techak's, forming a link between the two. He then spoke directly to the prince, who handed him something from the small gold box he carried. The priest walked to the edge of the dais and lifted the object for all to see: it was a small yellow and white bird. The frightened fowl pecked at the hand which held him high. In his other hand, the priest held an ornate dagger.  
  
Lord Roxton was anything but squeamish, but when the blade sliced into the defenceless creature, turning the light feathers a dark red, he was disgusted. Blood rained into the roaring fire, and when the priest finished his commentary, he punctuated it by tossing the tiny lifeless body into the hungry flames.  
  
Returning to the bride and groom, he produced a long leather strap which was covered with writing that, most likely, only Marguerite could read. He took the strap and wrapped an end around Marguerite's wrist; he secured the other end to Techak's wrist. Then, finally, he spoke the words Roxton was waiting to hear.  
  
Marguerite had taught him the correct phrase to give to initiate the challenge, and the one he would need to carry out the rest of their plan. He'd rehearsed them over and over through out the night. His first tries had sent the heiress into fits of laughter, his pronunciation was so awful. But, with her coaching, he improved until she was pleased. Right up until they said farewell to their friends, Marguerite continued her unsuccessful attempts at convincing him to abandon the challenge and leave with the others. Even while she lay in his arms, neither one able to sleep, she tried, but no matter what she said, he would not be dissuaded. She feared that Techak would notice how Roxton favoured his newly knitted leg; they were taking a very dangerous chance that Eeaulon might realise their intentions. If he did, he could manage to evade the ancient legends they hoped to take advantage of.  
  
Roxton advanced to the edge of the fiery moat. The intense heat was intimidating, but he was not daunted. In a loud voice, sounding much more confident than he felt, he spoke his piece. Still, Marguerite had not so much as glanced his way. He did, however feel the points of two blades against his spine.  
  
The priest again raised his arms and gave what sounded to the hunter's ears like an order. The weapons were no longer making dimples in his back. He approached the bridge closest to him, and at the priest's expectant look, he crossed.  
  
Techak was seething. He turned to Roxton, his eyes filled with murderous intent.  
  
The leather strap was removed from their wrists, and handed to Marguerite. She quietly took it and tied one end around Techak's wrist. She then ran it through a copper ring embedded near the base of the altar stone, and tied the other end to Roxton's wrist. After finishing her knot, she finally allowed her eyes to meet those of the hunter. In their grey depths, he clearly read the fear she felt for him. In response, he gave her his cocky grin and a wink.  
  
She started to speak, but the priest ushered her to the altar stone where she stood, bare toes against the copper ring, back against the gruesomely stained stone.  
  
An attendant brought the prince and Roxton identical, wide-bladed short swords. The hunter weighed it in his hand to get the feel, and before he was ready, Techak swung his blade. Roxton was barely able to deflect it in time. He heard Marguerite's sharp intake of breath behind him.  
  
If was almost as if he had been transported backward in time to when he had fought in the lizard-men's arena; except that the excessive heat of the ceremonial fires and the fact that any errant thrust could kill Marguerite made it harder to concentrate. His leg throbbed, but he did his best to ignore it. He swept his weapon toward the other man's chest. It clanged, blade against blade, sending a painful shock through his arm all the way to his shoulder. Techak followed through with his elbow, catching Roxton on the chin. Then he kicked the hunter's feet out from under him. As Roxton's back hit the ground, the prince's sword descended toward the explorer's neck. Again, he was able to block the blow. "So that's how you want to play?" he said struggling back to his feet. The solid hit against his newly knitted bone was almost incapacitating, but he went on the offensive, slashing hard and fast. Somehow, the Chappaei prince met every blow.  
  
The heat was taking it's toll. Roxton wondered how his adversary could be so unaffected by it. Sweat rolled down into the English lord's eyes, burning, and temporarily blinding him. Techak was able to capitalise on the momentary weakness. His blade bit into Boxton's forearm, leaving a wide, crimson ribbon in it's wake.  
  
"No," Marguerite cried out.  
  
The prince glanced her way. The distraction gave Roxton his opportunity. He twisted, drawing his sword in a broad arc, and hacked deeply into Techak's stomach.  
  
With a look of disbelief, the Chappaei grabbed at his wound. He staggered backward, his sword, forgotten, clattered to the ground and slid into the fire. Techak stumbled, and followed his blade over the edge; his wrist still tied to Roxton's.  
  
The explorer was ripped from his feet and dragged until his arm slammed against the metal ring. Involuntarily, he screamed out in pain -- the full weight of the prince's body pulling excruciatingly on his wrist. Due to the strain on the cord, he could not untie it, and his sword had been lost when he fell. Marguerite ran for his sword, but as he waited in abject pain, she did not return to cut the leather. Just as he was sure that his wrist would snap in two, the flames ate through the strap and Roxton fell back in sudden relief as the ceremonial fire became Techak's funeral pyre.  
  
The hunter supported his raw, bleeding wrist with his other hand trying to keep it immobile as the slightest movement brought racking pain. He turned, limping, to look for Marguerite, and his growing anger at her failure to help him disappeared instantly.  
  
King Eeaulon had crossed to the altar dais, and held Marguerite in front of him. Roxton's sword at her heart.  
  
****  
  
  
  
  
  
Lord Roxton felt helpless standing on the dais, arm cut deeply, wrist wrenched, and leg badly bruised at the very least. He only hoped that he had not re-fractured it; he needed everything he had to get out of there with Marguerite.  
  
She stood before him, her back pressed tightly against the mad king's chest, arms pinned to her sides. He held the short sword to her breast. The weapon was pressed against her so hard, that its tip had pierced her pale skin, and a thin trickle of crimson ran the length of the blade.  
  
"Let her go," Roxton's voice had an ominous tone. Eeaulon could not understand the words, but there was no mistaking their meaning.  
  
King Eeaulon looked straight into the hunter's green-brown eyes, smiled coldly, and pressed the blade a little harder into Marguerite's flesh.  
  
A slight wince was the only sign that she'd felt the weapon move.  
  
"Are you all right," Roxton was terrified that the sword's tip might be deeper than it appeared.  
  
"Why is it every time I try to do the right thing, it ends so badly?" she gave a short, humourless laugh. Right now, she was less worried about the king and his weapon than about carrying out their plan. "Say it now, John," she encouraged.  
  
His mind went momentarily blank, preoccupied as he was with Marguerite's danger.  
  
Eeaulon spoke, and roughly compelled Marguerite to translate;"He says you have murdered his son and deserve to die slowly and in great pain."  
  
Roxton scoffed.  
  
"But if you agree to leave immediately, he will grant you safe passage."  
  
"And what about you?" the hunter countered.  
  
She relayed the question. Eeaulon smirked as he gave his answer which the raven haired heiress translated, "You'll be leaving me here."  
  
Shaking his head, the hunter replied, "Never."  
  
"Now, John," she urged, seeing where this was leading, "You have to say it now."  
  
All at once, he realised that she was speaking about the second phrase she had taught him. With hopes that he remembered correctly, he raised his voice and spoke the words as Marguerite had instructed.  
  
King Eeaulon's face turned a deep reddish-purple with anger, and he began to rant. The heiress didn't bother to translate. He adjusted his hold on the sixteen inch blade's hilt, getting ready to plunge it into Marguerite's heart.  
  
Before he could follow through, she drove her heel into his instep. His hold on her loosened, and she followed with an elbow to his midsection. He doubled over and she broke away. Almost instantly, he grabbed her arm. She looked back at him, twisting her arm to free it from his hold. He continued to scream his threats and curses. Then, with the strength of madness, he shoved her across the dais. She flew headlong into Roxton. The hunter, injured, tired, and already unsteady on his feet, could not find the strength to remain standing. The two went down, sprawling dangerously close to the edge.  
  
Eeaulon advanced on them, brandishing the sword in wild punctuation of his verbal barrage. His eyes, red rimmed, and bright with insanity, met those of the prostrate heiress. His voice lowered, and he stopped his wild threats. The towered over them and in an overly calm voice promised, "No, Omenda, you will not be allowed to take your magic to my enemies. You will remain Chappaei, even if it must be in death." He raised the blade and swept it toward Marguerite's exposed neck. Without a thought for himself, Roxton covered Marguerite's body with his own and waited for the fatal blow.  
  
****  
  
It doesn't feel right," Malone lamented. The three explorers had reached the agreed upon meeting place and set up camp. As they sat now, fire made, meal cooked and eaten, they had nothing more to do but wait. As they waited, doubts ran rampant about their decision to leave Roxton and Marguerite at the Chappaei city. "I don't think we should have just left them."  
  
Challenger was quick in agreeing, "splitting up is always a bad idea."  
  
"Roxton and Marguerite can take care of themselves," Veronica contradicted, "and they are probably on their way here right now."  
  
"Ordinarily, I would agree," the red-haired scientist replied, "but Roxton isn't in top form."  
  
"and he never thinks quite straight where Marguerite is concerned," Malone interjected wryly.  
  
Challenger continued, "Marguerite was definitely not thinking logically, though I doubt she'd admit that her decision was purely emotional."  
  
Heaped upon her growing doubts, Veronica had the guilt of knowing that it was at her urging that the couple's plan had been accepted by the others. "You don't think....I mean, they seemed to know what they were doing," she looked to the men for their confirmation, "didn't they?"  
  
"I'm sure they are fine," Malone said with more conviction than he felt. He was compelled to reassure the jungle girl.  
  
"We'll give them the time they asked for and not a second more," Challenger declared, "then we go find them."  
  
****  
  
  
  
  
  
Time seemed to have stopped. While Roxton awaited the blow from Eeaulon's blade, he was grateful that the last things he would feel were Marguerite's face pressed against his chest, and her warm breath dancing across his skin. His body curled around hers, no strike from the sword could reach her. Once he was dead, Eeaulon should have no reason to kill her, at least that was his hope. She should be able to escape. He regretted that they had not had more time together, but then fifty or even a hundred years would never be enough; he would always have been greedy for more.  
  
Something struck his thigh. Surprise flashed through his mind that there had been no burning slice. Then he realised that he had indeed not been slashed, and the object, which turned out to be Eeaulon's sword, clattered away across the dais. Roxton propped himself up on one shaky arm and looked at the king. Madness still shone in his eyes, but it was frozen there. His eyes were quickly glazing over. A thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. He swayed toward the entwined couple on the ground, then toppled off the edge. The welcoming flames reached up, grabbing at him. They caressed his lifeless body as he plunged head-long into their fiery depths.  
  
Turning back to the woman he loved, Roxton ran his hand along her pale cheek. "It's over, Marguerite," he whispered.  
  
She opened her eyes. She'd kept them tightly closed, unwilling to see any vestige of their impending deaths. "You're all right?" she asked in wonder.  
  
"I'm alive," he chuckled as he stood and helped her to her feet. He swayed a little, and she put a steadying arm around him.  
  
The gaudily dressed priest was standing before them. In his hand, he held the gold ceremonial knife, it's blade shone red and dripped with fresh blood. He stepped toward them.  
  
"Oh, not again," the hunter muttered tiredly. He moved to extricate himself from Marguerite's firm grasp.  
  
The priest made no threatening moves, but spoke to Marguerite. She laughed with relief. "It IS over, John," she hugged him impetuously, then backed off at his involuntary "ouch". She'd pressed against the cut on his arm which was still bleeding. He smiled to let her know he was all right.  
  
She paraphrased what the priest had told her, "he killed Eeaulon, calls him a false king. When Eeaulon refused to accept you as true king by virtue of your being my.... " she stopped mid-sentence.  
  
"Your what, Marguerite?"  
  
"Because you won the challenge," she was visibly flustered.  
  
He wanted to press for an answer, but now was not the time. "where are the king's guards?" he wondered aloud.  
  
Marguerite looked around, but had no answer. They followed the priest who was motioning them to the altar.  
  
Gently, the priest took Roxton's hand. His wrist had swollen, and the raw flesh was being further abraded by the leather still encircling it.  
  
After loosening, but not removing the strap, he took the burnt end and wrapped it around Marguerite's wrist as he had done earlier with her and Techak. His speech this time, however was short. He looked at the couple expectantly.  
  
"You have to appoint a regent," Marguerite said quietly, "unless you intend to stay here and rule these people."  
  
"How else could I give you 'more wealth and power than you have ever dreamed'?" he quipped.  
  
"Well, there is that," she agreed lightly.  
  
He smiled back, then asked seriously, "What am I supposed to say?" She gave him a few words at a time which he repeated loudly. CheeRo's brother, Rutoi had been their choice. He was much like his brother and they had every reason to believe that he would prove to be a good king.  
  
Rutoi came forward and crossed the bridge to their right. Once in the centre of the dais, he raised his arms and bowed slightly first to Marguerite and Roxton, then to his people. He was greeted with boisterous cheering. The king's guard were standing to either side of him, offering their allegiance; not even they mourned their dead ex-king.  
  
"The king is dead," Marguerite murmured, "long live the king."  
  
"Now, Marguerite, can we go home?" Roxton asked.  
  
She smiled up at him, "You want me to give up all this so that I can carry fire wood, mend thread-bare clothes, scrub floors, cook inedible meals...."  
  
He looked at her uncertainly, and she leaned close saying, "how can I resist?"  
  
****  
  
Roxton and Marguerite were delayed returning to her hut by grateful Chappaei. They were thanked at great length by the new king, then the priest commended them and apologised for not having seen the insanity in Eeaulon sooner. All of the way to the hut, people were thanking the Omenda for using her magic to deliver them from their demon king.  
  
When they were finally alone in the hut, Marguerite took charge. It took eight stitches to close the gash in Roxton's arm, then she cleaned and bandaged his wrist. Last, she turned her attention to his leg.  
  
"My leg is fine," Roxton protested.  
  
"Then why not let me take a look?"  
  
"It is a waste of time."  
  
"We won't be leaving until I make sure that you haven't made it worse with all of your jumping around."  
  
"All of my..." he blustered. "It's not like I had a choice."  
  
"I want to see that leg now, Lord Roxton," she ordered.  
  
"I think this is just an excuse to get my pants off."  
  
"And now you are trying to change the subject," she countered.  
  
Her expression made it clear that she was not going to give in, so Roxton mumbled, "fine," and started to drag his boots off. The effort required to perform the minor task caused shooting pains in his wrist.  
  
"Oh, stop," she cried dropping to her knees. She quickly removed his footwear.  
  
At his grateful smile, she responded wryly, "I just don't want to have to re-do all my hard work." She indicated the bandages covering his wrist and arm. She laid his boots aside, straightened up and said, "Now the pants."  
  
A suggestive leer crossed his face, "I could use a little help."  
  
"Not a chance, Lord Roxton," she scolded, "Now, drop them."  
  
She flinched at the hideous rainbow of colour mottling his leg. Carefully, she ran her hands over the bone. She regretted the pain she was inflicting, but knew it was necessary. They couldn't risk travelling without knowing the state of his damaged leg. "The one thing your leg needs is rest."  
  
"Oh, come on, Marguerite." He sounded exasperated. "Unless you intend to carry me, I am going to be on it for the next several days. It is a long way back to the treehouse."  
  
"I think we should stay here..." when he interrupted, she put a calming hand on his forearm and finished, "just for a few days to give you time to heal. More than your leg took a beating."  
  
"Challenger and the others are waiting."  
  
"And they will come here when we don't show. It is safe here now."  
  
But Roxton did see a danger. If they delayed, these people who so obviously loved her might convince Marguerite to stay; and he was not going to risk losing her; not to the Chappaei, not to anyone. "If we just take it easy, I'll be fine."  
  
"You are the most stubborn man!"  
  
"Once back at the treehouse, I'm sure you can find a way of keeping me off my feet.:  
  
"If we make it that far," she resigned herself to the inevitable. "Then you had best get dressed. Daylight won't last forever." She had divested herself of all Chappaei trappings, and was quite comfortably back in her traveling clothes.  
  
****  
  
The jungle was taking on a golden glow as the sun dipped toward the horizon. An unknown primate scolded, unseen, from the lush canopy. Roxton's limp was growing steadily worse, and their progress was slow. He and Marguerite had covered less than half as much ground as they would usually.  
  
"Roxton," Marguerite called out, "we need to take a break."  
  
"Are you tired?"  
  
The exasperating man was near collapse, but would never admit to it, so she replied, "I'm exhausted."  
  
With monumental relief, he lowered himself onto a large boulder. "Plenty of room," he said indicating the spot beside him.  
  
She pretended that she hadn't heard, and instead commented, "We should find you a walking stick."  
  
"So that I can hobble about the jungle like an old man?"  
  
"To take some strain off your leg," she answered crossly.  
  
"A little rest and I'll be fine."  
  
"Yeah, two or three weeks worth."  
  
"Marguerite..."  
  
"I better find some wood and start a fire."  
  
"That can wait."  
  
But she was already off gathering firewood. Soon, she had a warm, cozy fire blazing. She had spread her blanket out opposite Roxton, the campfire between them. She relaxed and let the heat from the flames and the quiet of the encroaching night lull her.  
  
Painfully, Roxton rose and made his way over to where the heiress was leaning against a tree trunk. "Mind if I join you?" without waiting for her response, he slowly lowered himself beside her. He studied her; shadows from the fire danced across her face making it hard to read her expression. She was stubbornly looking into the fire, refusing to meet his gaze. Finally, he asked, "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing is wrong," she objected.  
  
"You have been avoiding me ever since we made Rutoi regent. Not interested now that I no longer have a kingdom?"  
  
"How could I avoid you," she asked dryly, "we haven't been more than a few feet apart in hours."  
  
"You know what I mean." Taking her hand which she unsuccessfully tried to wrest from him, he told her quietly, "if it's the marriage ceremony..."  
  
She instantly interrupted him, "I haven't given it another thought. I should probably store up some firewood before the light is completely gone," she tried to get up, but he held fast to her hand.  
  
As soon as she changed the subject, he knew he'd hit upon the problem. "We need to talk about this."  
  
"There is nothing to talk about."  
  
"Now, who is being stubborn? I was there, Marguerite."  
  
She looked at him defiantly.  
  
"Deny it all you like," he said steadily, "but you are my wife."  
  
"John..."  
  
"Oh, I didn't realise it at first, too busy keeping us alive, but I have had plenty of time since to put it all together."  
  
"It was a Chappaei wedding," she protested weakly. "It really doesn't mean anything to us."  
  
"Except that I am their king and you are their Omenda." He cupped her face with his hand, "we do belong together. We both know it." When she started to protest, he continued, "You have admitted it more than once."  
  
"And then something horrible always happens," she laughed dismally, "a scorpion sting, or a rampaging dinosaur."  
  
"Not this time," his lips touched hers lightly.  
  
"Marriage to me won't be easy," she said pushing away slightly.  
  
"Ah," he smiled, "but it will never be dull." Then his mouth reclaimed hers. Using his uninjured leg as little as possible, he manuvered down onto her blanket. She clutched him tightly, fervently returning his kiss. His hands were already at work on her buttons, his mouth strayed to her neck.  
  
"Are you sure you are up to this?" Marguerite asked breathily. His reply sent a warm flush over her entire body.  
  
He pushed her blouse away, exposing her creamy shoulders. He had just turned to the fastenings of her camisole when he heard sounds of something approaching.  
  
"What?" Marguerite asked, her skin suddenly cold where his mouth had been busy just moments before.  
  
In answer, he put his finger to his lips. He reached for his guns, but he had left them on the other side of the fire with his rucksack. He swore under his breath, and reached for a flaming log from the fire to use as a club.  
  
"Looks like you didn't need our help," Veronica's voice reached them seconds before she stepped into the firelight. Challenger and Malone were close on her heels. The older man looked embarrassed, the reported appeared amused.  
  
The hunter struggled to a sitting position while Marguerite pulled her clothes together.  
  
"What's new?" Malone asked with an undisguised grin.  
  
"Ah, now there's a story," Roxton began.  
  
  
  
end. 


End file.
